


sunshine, daisies, butter mellow

by vengefulamber



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Established Relationship, Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 21:30:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17795105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vengefulamber/pseuds/vengefulamber
Summary: In which Draco Malfoy meets the in-laws.(Something sweet and short, because these boys deserve nice things.)





	sunshine, daisies, butter mellow

Draco was already awake when Harry woke up-- which wasn’t all that unusual, as Harry was a notorious night owl and often slept until his boyfriend layered himself over him like a too-long bathrobe, damp and warm from his shower and droplets of water trickling down his hair to Harry’s neck. Or he’d wake up to a gentle hand combing through his hair to find his forehead under the mess, pressing a quick kiss to the skin still hot from being pressed into the mattress and a murmured “I’m off to work, please remember to take out the bins this morning.” Or the smell of coffee which Draco would never drink, but he continues to brew it using the ridiculously expensive Muggle machine that he insisted on when Harry told him they didn’t need a magical device for coffee (because if they “have to have Muggle supplies in the apartment, they should at least be high quality, Merlin’s sake, Potter.”). But this time Harry woke up and Draco was just standing in front of his closet, which was filled with varying materials, most of which were black, and all of them were bought at a shop that insisted on measuring you down to your briefs while you sipped wine so old and dry that it could hardly be considered a beverage anymore.

“What are you on about so early?” he managed in a voice still rough from sleep.

For a moment, he glanced over his shoulder at Harry, but he quickly turned back to the seemingly offensive shirts and trousers hanging in front of him. “It’s the 23rd.”

Harry squinted at him. Rolling over onto his stomach, he reached for his wand (just to check that it was still there) and his glasses (so that he could actually face the day that was already proving to be a problem). “Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” he huffed, still too tired for whatever existential crisis Draco was choosing to have today, “What would you have me do with that?”

Now Draco turned in full, his expression a very contained combination horror and anger. “Potter, you thick headed twat. It’s the 23rd; we’re meeting the Weasley’s for brunch.”

“Oh,” Harry said with a grin. He rubbed a calloused hand over his face, pressing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose when they failed to stay put. “Well I suppose that’s right. I still don’t understand what’s got you so skittish. It’s just Ron and Hermione.”

The look which was directed at him was so full of ire and so tight wound that Harry almost felt guilty for setting the date. He wasn’t, but he could almost be.

“Draco,” he started, placating and sweet, “love,” he added when that proved to not be enough to soften the hard line of Draco’s shoulders, “It’ll be fine!” 

There was still no change, so he threw the quilt back from where it was tangling his legs and with a quiet grunt he got out of bed. Harry shoved his feet into his slippers, hoping to keep some of the warmth from the blankets despite the growing chill in the days. 

Padding over to where Draco was standing at attention at the foot of their bed staring into his wardrobe, he leaned against the wooden bedframe and peered in at the clothes. Most were indiscernible without pulling them out to check the fabric or the cut, aside from the few emerald green and bright tone red pieces that Draco’s mother continued to send (citing that jewel tones complimented his pale coloring), but Harry had a well enough idea of what was clean. He tended to do the laundry in their home.

“Well, I think you ought to wear the black one,” he said, one hand gesturing towards the closet and finally garnering a reaction.

“Potter, I swear if you say one more word-”

But the threat was made without any real malice. Harry could tell by the way that Draco’s shoulders still hadn’t relaxed into his self assured slouch that still put him an inch or two above Harry that he was beginning to panic. Over brunch.

Knowing Draco, and knowing some of the difficulties he had socializing (especially after the war), Harry pushed off from the bed and pulled out the slim black turtleneck that Draco favored when it began to turn to chill in the fall, as well as the knee length black coat that he had worn the day before. Settling the coat over the sweater on the arms of the hanger, Harry left it on the door of the wardrobe, kissing Draco on his cheek as he made his way to their bathroom to shave off the beard he had been letting grow out over the past week or so. 

Draco was a particular fellow, and if he wanted to fuss over what to wear to meet with Harry’s best friends from so many years ago, then he could fuss all he wanted. To be fair, Harry had been stressed about the planned meal since first bringing it up with the two a week ago.

He wanted them to like him. He needed them to at least tolerate him. It was true that Draco had been a bit of prick at Hogwarts, but he had changed in the years between the war and living out in the real world. He was less pompous, less reliant on his father’s name to get him places. He and Harry had caught each other at the pub one evening as Draco was leaving and Harry was entering, and they had elected to share a pint, and then another, and then a walk to clear their heads. 

It had been nearly a year and Harry spent most of his time in Draco’s condo rather than his own apartment and the two had begun to seriously consider just forgoing the appearances of two separate residences and moving Harry in.

But first, Ron and Hermione needed to see that change. 

They had seen Draco in passing as he picked Harry up or dropped him off (the bored fool had learned to drive in the years between and Harry quite enjoyed taking the Muggle route when it was afforded) and they tolerated Harry’s mooning over him, especially in the first few weeks. 

This was the ideal time to introduce him, as they were about to spend their second Christmas together and Harry really thought that he out to bring Draco along to the Weasley family dinner.

And he hoped that Molly would have a sweater in it for him. 

Placing the electric shaver down on the edge of the sink, Harry looked at himself and wondered what Ron and Hermione would see. It wasn’t as if they never saw him now that they were adults moving about the world between jobs and finances and other professional engagements, but they had never seen him with Draco. The last formal function that he had gone to, Draco was out of town on “official alchemist business” and Harry had taken Luna Lovegood as his plus one (the event was honoring an obscure researcher she admired and he needed respite from the many handshakes and “Harry Potter”’s he would have to endure despite the years since the war). It had made the event an interesting one, with Ron egging Luna on in order to keep the group of them from falling asleep during the dinner, but it was one less chance for Draco to interact with the group without too much space for socialization.

They should have planned to see a movie. Why didn’t he think to plan for a movie?

Shaved, Harry splashed some water on his face and tried to not regret his decision. It was too late now, and he might as well accept the way things were going to go. Draco was inevitably going to say something to frustrate Hermione (if he was lucky and it wasn’t a larger offense) and he and Ron would have to split the two up. 

Ron might as well have been no help, though. He was just about moony when Hermione got a fire lit under her. 

The water ran down his arms and wet his sleeves where they were bunched up at his elbows. Sick at the feeling, Harry pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it on the bathroom floor, where it would no doubt frustrate Draco to see it not in the hamper. 

When he came out of the bathroom, Draco was dressed in the shirt that Harry had pulled out for him and a pair of black slacks that really did wonders for his long legs, making them seem as though they stretched on for miles. He was seemingly mulling between two pairs of shoes: one pair black leather Oxfords with just enough of a heel to them that Harry was placed a full head shorter, and the other a pair of ankle height black boots which had just been bought last month when Draco had gone out with Pansy. 

“Wear the Oxfords,” Harry said as he crossed over to his dresser, kicking off his slippers to land somewhere near the bed. 

He pulled open a drawer stacked so tightly with sweaters and long shirts that he had to shove a hand in to keep the piles from catching on the dresser itself and grabbed a well worn forest green jumper. It was one that Draco and he had picked out together one afternoon. Harry had been browsing the clearance racks of clothes now out of season as the thaw began to set in and had found himself with the sweater held up against his back. Draco told him that the color would look quite nice with his eyes and Harry couldn’t find it in him to disagree.

It had become one of his favorites throughout the year when the days would tip into just cold enough and by mid afternoon he would be forced to ruck the sleeves up if he didn’t want to melt. Now that it was cold enough, he was sure that it would be making regular appearances in the wash.

Laying it out on his arm, he grabbed the pair of old jeans that he had draped across the dresser the day before when he got home from shopping. They were lighter and perhaps a bit too thin for the weather, but they were also the only other pants that were clean that weren’t the starched slacks that he was forced to wear to work. When layered with his woolen socks that Hermione had knit for him one Christmas and the sturdy boots he stomped around in each winter, he was such that he would be fine. 

He peeked over his shoulder to see Draco watching him from the foot of the bed, fondness in his eyes despite his earlier panic.

Flashing him a quick grin, Harry tossed the jeans on top of the quilt (which was neatly pulled back into place by Draco) and pulled the sweater over his head. In the same motion shucked off his sleep pants, but before he could grab the jeans and shove his feet into them, he glanced back up at his boyfriend. Worrying at his lower lip, Harry fought back another grin and instead leaned over the bed to grant Draco another kiss, which he met graciously.

For a moment, Harry considered crawling right over and calling it a day there, dragging Draco back into bed with him where the two of them could really enjoy themselves, but when Draco pulled back just a bit, his hand spread warm and wide over the back of Harry’s neck, and pressed one last, quick kiss to his lips, he smiled crookedly and went back to dressing.

Five minutes later Draco was attempting to brush his hair back into a tamer mane, but Harry just batted him off and pulled it up into a knot at the crown of his head. After fixing his glasses, which had slid down the bridge of his nose in the process of managing his hair, Harry grinned at Draco, hands held out. “How do I look?”

“Perfect,” Draco told him, a small, smug smile on his face. 

With a laugh, Harry pulled him close and nuzzled up into his neck, reaching up to press a quick kiss to the underside of his jaw.

“We’d best be heading out,” he said, fingers catching Draco’s as he brushed past him and towards the fireplace. “We can use the floo to Ginny’s and then walk to the cafe from there.”

Suddenly nervous, Draco fussed with his coat, picking at imaginary loose threads on the cuff of his sleeve. “Why can’t we just Apparate? Or drive?” he asked, voice high and haughty like it got when he was beginning to overthink things.

“Because Ginny’s is faster, and she’s out of town this weekend for a Quidditch match.” Harry thought for a moment, and then added, “And I don’t like Apparition.”

Shoulders relaxing a bit, Draco’s cheeks colored a bit pinker than could be blamed on the warmth he must be feeling in his layers. “Oh,” was all he offered in response, finally letting himself be pulled to the fireplace. 

Harry went first, saying the address slower and more deliberately so that Draco might also know it. He had it written in the list of addresses to the right of the fireplace, just in case, but Draco’s memory was fantastic and he knew that he wouldn’t have to use it. It would be said once and Draco would retain it just enough that if he was given the chance to think on it it would come to him.

When he popped up in Ginny’s living room, his pale face streaked in one place by soot, Draco looked less comfortable than he had at home, which was to be expected, honestly. Harry pressed himself against his front when Draco had stepped out of the fireplace and reached up to wipe the smudge from his face. Leaning up to follow his hand where it still cupped Draco’s cheek, Harry gave a gentle kiss. When he leaned back, Draco was flushed a healthy shade of pink and his eyes were bright. Pulling away, Harry laced their fingers together and set out of the apartment.

The walk to the cafe was short, but the air had taken a chill to it that left Harry shivering even in his sweater. He thought that he should have brought a coat after all, as Draco seemed to be handling the cold brilliantly. 

He spared one quick glance at Draco once the restaurant had come into view, and the pulled on his hand, fingers tightening and strides lengthening. Draco let a short huff of laughter leave his lungs and he smiled indulgently down at Harry, who had spotted Ron and Hermione by then and was waving frantically at them. Draco kept his gaze down at his feet, wondering if he should have worn the boots instead. They may have looked less posh than the polished leather that clicked loudly against the sidewalk. 

The smile slipped from his face and he pressed his lips together, nervous.

Harry was anything but as Ron and Hermione came into view, standing just to the side of the cafe’s door. They were meeting at a Muggle shop to avoid being recognized, something he, Ron, and Hermione did less frequently as details of the war faded into relative obscurity. He had warned Draco of this, though, and instead of seeming put off, Draco seemed relieved that he would have something better to worry about than blood politics and bad history. 

“What do Muggles eat?” he had asked in the week leading up to the date. Harry had laughed it off and shook his head, telling Draco that he would just order for him when the time came. 

Ron was wearing only a flannel over another shirt, but he didn’t seem too bothered by the cold. Alternatively, Hermione was bundled up in what looked to be at least three layers: a windbreaker which seemed sizes too long on her arms and torso, a bright yellow sweater, and a white button down. She looked cozy, especially with Ron’s arm slung lazily over her shoulder. 

They parted as Draco and Harry came nearer, and eventually Harry dropped his hand in favor of wrapping Ron in the tightest hug Draco had ever seen shared between two men. Neither seemed especially embarrassed by it, and Hermione looked on in fondness, ready for her turn when Harry finally released her husband. 

Harry lifted her an inch or so off the group, for good measure. 

The warm feeling between the three of them stilted a bit when Harry reached back for Draco, once more taking his hand and pulling him forward. Draco stumbled a bit, scuffing the toe of his shoe on the ground. He swallowed and looked up enough to meet Hermione’s eye.

“Afternoon,” he nodded at her, brain scrambling to think of something to say to her that wasn’t Granger. 

A loud bark of laughter from Ron caused his head to shoot up and see that the two of them were smiling like they were in on some joke. They stood there for a moment longer before Ron said, “Come off it, Malfoy, at least shake our hands.”

Harry was laughing good-naturedly and Hermione seemed to still be in high spirits, so before things could go too far south, Draco held his hand out to Ron. 

Ron clasped both hands around his and just held them there as a sort of embrace. “Draco,” he greeted, his voice still pleased.

Draco swallowed again. “Ronald.”

He could almost hear Harry rolling his eyes from his side, but he did also give his hand a little squeeze when Ron dropped the other so that he could greet Hermione. Her handshake was firm and professional other than the fact that she lingered a bit too long. Before her fingers had even fully left his, she was fighting back a clever smirk and telling him, “We’ll have to work you up to hugging, I suppose, with how much Harry goes on about you.”

“I give great hugs,” Ron added, as if that was of any consequence, “Tell him, Harry.”

“You give great hugs, Ron,” Harry said, smiling in a way that made Draco’s heart stutter.

Introductions aside (and having gone much smoother than he dared hope) Draco followed Hermione into the little cafe through the door that Ron was holding open, nodding his thanks as he went by. She found a booth not too far from the front window that would seat the four of them, and Harry left to grab menus and smile prettily at the server who had greeted them when they walked in. No doubt she would be over soon to take orders.

He looked at the menu that Harry had set in front of him and floundered for a moment before glancing up to see Ron drumming his hands on the tabling, glancing around the shop without even a look at the laminated paper. He caught Draco’s eye with a bashful grin.

“I’ve got no idea what some of this Muggle stuff is,” he confessed, Hermione was still searching intently through the menu when he reached over to rest his palm on her knee, “I’d be totally lost without her.”

Glancing at Harry from the corner of his eye, Draco nodded more to himself than the other. “I understand the feeling,” he said, voice soft.

Harry caught his eye and gave him a reassuring grin, resuming his look through and every so often conferring with Hermione about this thing or another. The table was quiet, and he thought that he might be able to get along with the two after all. He felt the need to share that he wasn’t very experienced by means of hugging, but he was willing to learn, but instead he settled for sharing a menu with Harry and trying to make sense of what he and Hermione were currently bantering over.

Pressed close to his side and listening in on the conversations he must have been missing out of in school, Draco began to understand.


End file.
